The wretched thraldom was over,--and what had it left?
An exquisite sensitiveness of the nerves of sense, imagination exalted, memory goaded, reason and judgment overthrown.
In his Fast-Day sermon Dr. Burge delivered himself of much weighty testimony against those thaumaturgical incantations of heathenism which had been revived among us. With his splendor of clerical pause and emphasis he read the denunciations against a sinful nation to which the prophet Isaiah has affixed the awful words,--"Saith the Lord, the Lord of Hosts."
"And they shall fight every one against his brother, and every one against his neighbor, city against city, and kingdom against kingdom."
Here the preacher's dark eyes left the sacred volume, and seemed to gaze upon some coming struggle in which the sins of the people would meet a bloody retribution. Then, referring to the page, he pronounced with bitterness of holy indignation the prophetic curse which was that day fulfilled in our cherished New England.
"And they shall seek to the idols, and to the charmers, and to them that have familiar spirits, and to the wizards."
The sermon made no more visible impression upon the sinful portion of the congregation than homilies against novel and pleasant indulgences are wont to do.
"The Apostle was right, after all," said Colonel Prowley, quoting the text upon the meeting-house steps; "we _should_ 'try the spirits.'"
"No objection to that," said the post-master; "but here's Dr. Burge tells us to keep out of their way, and call them all humbugs, without trying them at all."
The gentleman referred to joined our party upon the meeting-house green, and accompanied us home.
As we entered the house, our ears were saluted by a sort of scuffling noise, with an accompaniment of broken English. Miss Turligood, highly charged with the Detached Vitalized Electricity, or some stimulant of equal potency, ran to meet us in the entry, to enjoin silence and a passive state of mind before entering the parlor. The manifestations during service had been most wonderful. Twynintuft had lifted the table to the ceiling, with Mr. Stellato clinging to the legs. Mrs. Colfodder had had her back-hair taken down, and the housemaid was certain that somebody tried to kiss her.